


elusive dreams

by helpme_iminlove



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Las Vegas, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance, i just wanted them to kiss lmao, idk how else to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpme_iminlove/pseuds/helpme_iminlove
Summary: “Ruth!” He shouts, and she turns towards the sound, her face lighting up when her eyes land on him. He smiles so big his face hurts a little. How did he get here? When did it get this bad? She crawled under his skin and made a home there.





	elusive dreams

**Author's Note:**

> GOD this took forever to write, I tell ya. These two just cannot make out without airing all their shit first.  
> I don't really know what happened, all I know is that I've watched GLOW season 2 roughly 3 times now and these two have ruined my life lmao  
> I really hope you guys like this! I watched episode 6 a lot to try to get the tone right and to keep them in character. I have so much love for this show and all of it's characters. Comments and kudos would literally make me cry, so please leave some!!!

She really doesn’t want to do this, but her hand rises up and knocks on Debbie’s door anyway. She steps back, looking out at the distant glittery lights of downtown that line the horizon of the view from the apartments. Apart from the pungent smell of cigarettes that seems to just exist in the air here and the general meanness of the inhabitants of Vegas, it wasn’t all that bad. She could be okay with this oasis in the desert being her home for however long. She wasn’t sure why she kept hesitating to get comfortable-- _The Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling_ has made it’s home at the _Riviera,_ packing out every show with more fans than she had ever imagined. A few more months and she could probably get a one story somewhere nearby, like Sam had. She should probably get a new car first, though.

Debbie opens her door and Ruth is still getting used to not seeing resentment on her face. They’ve been good, but Ruth is afraid to fall back into their old patterns, from even before she was a homewrecker. The space from Mark has been good for Debbie, Ruth knows. They’ve talked about it.

“Um, hey Ruth, what’s up?” Debbie says, standing in socks, shorts and a tourist-y Las Vegas sweatshirt.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, I just, um,” Ruth hesitates, remembering what she walked over here for. “I need an outfit?”

“For what? Is Russell _finally_ in town?”

“Um, no,” Ruth laughs nervously, the emphasis on “finally” throwing her off a little bit. _This was a bad idea_ , she thinks. “No, Bash and Sam are taking me to dinner, they wanted to talk about the show, I guess?”

Something flickers over Debbie’s face for a brief moment, and then it’s gone. A flame bursts in her eyes that used to burn constantly, replaced by the neon glow of the city. “Okay, well, let me see if I can find anything, do you want to come in?”

“Sure, yeah, thanks.”

Ruth is sure that her smile is embarrassed. Thank God she’s not really the blushing type. She steps inside as Debbie walks into her room to rummage through clothes. The apartment is near identical to hers and Sheila's, but with a stronger sense of _home_ , flowers in vases and shoes at the door. Tammé is cooking something in the small kitchen, wearing a _kiss the cook_ apron.

“Hey girl!” Tammé calls. “Did you smell the Hamburger Helper from a few doors down, or what?”

Ruth makes her way to the kitchen.

“Wow, that does sound really good, actually, but no. I need to borrow some clothes from Debbie.”

“Girl, I thought you had a hot little cameraman boyfriend, who you goin’ out with?”

Ruth laughs. “Please, it’s just Sam and Bash,” she says before lowering her voice a little bit. “Actually I think they want to make me a director.”

Tammé squeals and leaves the stove to give Ruth a big hug, “That’s huge!”

"I know! I’m kind of nervous though. I mean, I know that I’ve basically been a director this whole time, but to make it official is kind of a big deal.”

“You’re gonna be great,” Tammé says, squeezing her tightly again and returning to the stove as Debbie walks out of her room.

“Which one?” She says, holding up the dresses she has in each hand for Ruth to look at. In her right hand is a tight black dress with one long sleeve and a huge bow on the shoulder, while the one in her left hand is a dark blue peplum style dress, much more business-like but gorgeous.

“Oh wow, these are almost _too_ nice,” Ruth says, walking over to look at them closer. “I think the black one is a little much, though, don’t you think? It’s not like I'm trying to look amazing or anything.”

She doesn’t see the look that passes between Debbie and Tammé, but Ruth herself can feel something behind her own words, something false and forced. There's a card hidden up someone's sleeve, the dice are loaded--

“I'll take the blue one.”

 

* * *

 

He’s a few minutes early, so he parks on the other side of the small parking lot and gets out of his car to stretch. He leans against the trunk and pops a cigarette into his mouth, nervously patting his hair down only to run his fingers through it a few moments later.

He debates going to her door. But then Sheila would see who Ruth was going out with, and it might be conspicuous or whatever. And then he runs the risk of being seen by any of the girls who just so happen to look out of their windows. In fact, he can see Dawn pushing her curtain aside right now to look out the window. He waves and she drops the curtain again.

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to hide. It’s just Ruth. And he’s sure that all the girls already know how he feels about her, having made quite the show about it at the hospital. They probably feel bad for him, like pity or some bullshit, because she’s dating the camera guy. He doesn’t need that shit in his life.

    _Russell and I slept together, so... that’s happening._

_What do you want me to say?_

He still doesn’t know what she wants him to say. He can never find the right words, can never muster up the right courage these days. He saw the way she had kissed him before getting on the bus, and you can’t just forget about something like that so easily. He had fought for her, and he lost. A certain level of failure, right?

He’s been trying to get rid of his feelings, ya know, like an idiot. But without Russell around, things between him and Ruth have been pretty damn good. They’re closer than before. He always seems to find himself dragged into her orbit, getting as close as possible but not close enough, never close enough. She lights up his world in a way no woman ever has before. Justine kinda did that for him too, but that’s different, obviously. God, he misses that kid.

His cigarette has burned down and he checks his watch. He stomps out his cigarette and lights a new one. Maybe he’ll just honk, to hell with being discreet. Suddenly, he remembers going to pick her up from the motel to take her to Planned Parenthood. Jesus, it feels like that was a lifetime ago. Maybe it was.

He sees her walk out of her apartment on the second floor, and his stomach flutters like a goddamn school girl. Something swells up in his chest, pushing against his rib cage and he feels it crawling up his throat--

“Ruth!” He shouts, and she turns towards the sound, her face lighting up when her eyes land on him. He smiles so big his face hurts a little. How did he get here? When did it get this bad? She crawled under his skin and made a home there.

She makes her way down the steps and heads across the parking lot, and he goes around his car to the passenger side, holding open her door. As she gets closer, he can see her dark blue dress, form fitting and the fabric shines a little in the moonlight. He feels like the wind just got knocked out of him.

“You look nice,” she remarks with a big smile, a gleam of _something_ in her eye.

“Not too bad yourself,” is all he can manage as she slides into the car. He closes the door behind her and jogs around the car again to get in. He starts the car and pulls away from the apartments, turning towards downtown.

“Where’s Bash?” Ruth asks, and oh yeah, right, that guy.

“Turns out he couldn’t make it, something about meeting with the hotel executives tonight,” he answers, and its true, even if Bash had been weird about it on the phone.

“Oh my gosh, shouldn’t you be there too?” She asks, genuine concern in her voice.

“Nah, he’s got it covered,” he says, and he smiles at her in the darkness of his car, the orange street lamps lighting up her face as they drive into the heart of Vegas, the heart of the desert, and Sam can feel himself preparing for a free fall, a spiral different from anything else he's inflicted upon himself before.

He’s wondering why he didn’t just cancel this whole thing altogether. They've always had some kind of buffer for the two of them since The Incident--as Sam likes to call it, capitalized and everything cause he's a melodramatic asshole. There's been something to keep them busy, to keep them from letting this _thing_ between them consume everything. He's more the type of person to deny, deny, deny, but when it comes to Ruth, he wears his heart on his sleeve but still somehow manages to carry on. She's got his heart in one hand and a knife in the other, and he's constantly bracing himself for the day she seals the deal, cuts him down, tells him finally _leave me alone you fucking creep._

But she hasn’t done that, and maybe he’s starting to think that she won’t.

 

* * *

 

 

A neon cowboy hangs in the night sky, waving at them and beckoning them closer to the casinos and strip clubs that line Fremont Street, the bright golden bulbs that drip from every surface of every hotel, and the lights are so gaudy, so _much_ , that it just works. Ruth feels a swelling in her chest, a fondness for Sin City and its theatrics that only someone as dramatic as her can appreciate. She’s still not sure why Sam had said she was going to hate it here.

Sam. She looks to her left as she walks beside him, and he’s got his hands shoved deeply into his jean pockets, watching his feet as they make their way from where they had parked to wherever he wanted to take her. She wasn’t sure what this was, but she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. _Like the dance,_ she thinks, before shaking the thought away. Just because they were alone it didn’t mean this was a date or anything. And her and Russell were still a thing. Right?

The truth was that she and Russell hadn't really talked in the whole two months they had been in Vegas, constantly playing phone tag but never figuring out when they could actually talk. And while Ruth was glad it sounded like Russell was doing great since GLOW, their schedules were just too crazy to talk, let alone go visit each other. Plus, she was more busy with the show than ever before, pulling late nights with Sam and Debbie, making phone calls, casting, drawing up storyboards.

She was kind of starting to forget what he looked like. She felt horrible about it, but it was true, all the same.

“Where are you taking me?” She says.

“Jesus Christ, would you stop asking?” Sam says, exasperated. “Can’t you just enjoy a good surprise for once?”

“A _good_ surprise?” She laughs. “How do I know you’re not just taking me to a strip club?”

“Why would I do that?” He stops walking to wave his hands around at her. “Why would I take a woman like you to a strip club? Huh?”

“I don’t know! It just seems like something you would do, I don’t know,” she says, clutching the strap of her purse on her shoulder. He swears under his breath, rubbing his eyes and pinching his nose.

“Jesus-- alright look, if it will get you to stop asking, we are almost there, okay? Come on,” he says, placing his hand at the small of her back to guide her further down the street. She laughs, very nearly immune to his near-constant and intense frustration with her. She knows he only acts this way because he doesn’t know how else to act, and that’s fine. She gets a little closer to his side as he guides her towards the entrance to _The Golden Nugget_.

Ruth isn’t sure that she’ll ever get used to the strange limbo that casinos seem to exist in: light from the neon slots, yet darkness, drenching them in color yet swimming through tones of grey. Sam removes his hand from her back only to grab her hand instead.

“Alright, just-- come on,” he says, tugging her in some seemingly random direction, like _he’s_ not even sure where they’re going.

“Bash made reservations for tonight at some swanky place,” he explains as they pass through the rows of slot machines, heading towards the open area of the poker tables and to the stores and restaurants beyond.

“When are the reservations for?” Ruth asks.

“Nine, I think,” Sam responds, frowning at the general mayhem around them, as if willing the restaurant to manifest itself before them.

“Would you just-- _slow down_ , please?” She says, tugging on his hand to get him to stop. He listens, turning to face her in the middle of the casino.

His face is drenched in golden artificial light and distantly Ruth thinks they are standing way too close to each other. He smells like aftershave and cigarettes; like clean laundry and typewriter ink. Her mind blanks for a moment, and she struggles to remember her words, caught in the riptide of his presence, the pull of his gaze.

He’s just standing too close, his hand in hers and suddenly it’s _the dance_ , _and she’s pulling back to look at him, and she’s so scared but she thinks he is too, and Madonna is singing “I’ve never wanted anyone like this, it’s all brand new--”_

His eyes leave hers suddenly and she feels the loss of this almost physically. Jesus, she’s losing her mind. He’s looking around for something, anything.

“Do you want a drink?” he blurts out. “I need a fuckin’ drink.”

“But what about the reservations?”

He’s pulling her in a new direction, “Nah, fuck that, I don’t want go sit in some uptight, hoity toity restaurant where I have to use manners, or whatever.”

“ _Hoity toity_?” She laughs-- always laughing around him these days, have they grown this used to each other?-- and they find themselves on stools at the hotel bar, surrounded by washed up drunkards who lost everything by five o’clock and don’t even have enough money for a cab ride home.

They order their drinks, and a silence settles between them. An uncomfortable silence, an uneasy one, Ruth expectant and waiting for something while Sam is jittery and unfocused, tapping on the bar and looking around at everything except her.

“So,” she starts, “Was there a reason you and Bash wanted to meet with me?”

“Oh. Yeah. that,” he says, “I know you helped me as co-director for the finale back in LA, but we’re making it official.”

She holds onto the feelings bubbling up in her throat for just a little while longer. They get their drinks but she just holds it between her fingers, feeling the precipitation on the glass. “So what does that mean?”

“What do you want it to mean?”

“What happens to Zoya?”

“Are you kidding? We aren’t taking you out of the ring, you’re one of our best heels. And you _are_ the current champion, or did you forget?”

“But what am I going to be doing exactly?”

“Ruth, come on, don’t play dumb, you know you’ve been directing since the show started.”

“Yeah and you fired Reggie because of that.”

“ _Jesus_ fuck-- are we still on that?”

“No, I just--”

“Do you not want to be a director?”

“No, no, of _course_ I do, I just--”

“What,” he says, and he’s leaning into her space like he always does but for some reason this time, she gets a bad taste in the back of her throat. Her hesitation forms itself at the front of her mind, finally clearing the fog, and she finds the strength to just _say it_.

“ _Why_ are you making me a director? Why not Debbie or Cherry? Even Carmen could be a director. So why me?”

Her meaning-- _the hospital, the family dinner, the dance, the almost kiss--_ lines every word, and he knows it. He looks at her, his face frozen, dumbfounded. His mouth forms itself into a tight line.

“You really want me to answer that.”

“Yes.” No hesitation. Just rip the band-aid off, and oh no, this was dinner and then it wasn’t, Bash was here and then he _wasn’t_...

He pulls back, rubbing his face, his eyes. He finishes his drink and gets up.

“Where are you going?”

“Would you just calm down? I have to go take a piss, and ruminate on whether you should still be a director or not, cause you’re obviously stupid.”

She watches him walk away, turning down a hallway. She turns to the bar, finally knocking her drink back in one go.

 

* * *

 

He stands in the mirror and pulls out his box of cigarettes, digging to the bottom.

He pulls out his small square of blow and stares at it, debating.

He shoves it back into the box, deciding that Ruth deserves better than that.

The thought hits him hard, and he leans against the sink, head hanging between his shoulders.

He doesn’t really even know what he’s supposed to say to her. _I’m making you a director because I’m possibly in love with you?_ He knows that’s not the truth. She _deserves_ to be a director, he’s not just trying to get in her pants, okay, he’s not Tom fucking Grant.

Right?

He turns on the faucet and splashes water on his face, rubbing his eyes. He needs to order another drink.

He leaves the bathroom, and when he turns the corner, someone has taken his stool.

The man is _leering_ at Ruth, his hand resting on her knee but definitely making its way upward and Sam can see the panic in her eyes, the pure distaste and _hatred_ and he--

Before he knows what he’s doing he’s punching the guy square in the mouth.

“Sam!” Ruth yells.

“Hey!” yells a security guard nearby, and the guy is getting up from the ground, blood spilling from his lip, and _Jesus Christ_ Sam hasn’t been in a fight in a long time, and--

Just as the security guards get to them, the man punches Sam right in the eye, his glasses breaking in a loud crunch.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s glasses sit on the table between them, one lens almost completely shattered. The light in the twenty four hour diner is too bright and unforgiving. Sam's eye is already getting purple-- she knows it'll be nasty in the morning, black and mottled. She looks at her menu but doesn't actually read anything, flipping through with disinterest.

The waitress comes to take their order, tired and unfazed by Sam's beaten appearance. _Vegas,_ Ruth thinks.

“I'll just have coffee, thanks,” he says.

“Um, water is fine,” Ruth gives a strained smile to the waitress as she walks away.

“Well,” Sam starts, too loud. “Here’s the dinner I promised you. Happy?”

She winces.

The waitress comes back with their drinks. She can't stop looking at his black eye.

“Thank you,” she says. “For, you know...”

He doesn't say anything, just keeps looking out the window into the night at the cars that pass by.

“To answer your question,” and his voice is so small and quiet, and she knows he's really thinking about what he's going to say. His bruised eye is turned towards her. “We want you to be a director because you deserve it. Not because of,” he hesitates, “how I _feel_ about you, not because Debbie is trying to stop ruining your life, not because of any of that.”

He turns to her then, and his face is so open, so broken, but she can't look away. He looks so different without his glasses, and it feels like something she shouldn’t be allowed to see. What has she done to him? What have they done to each other? She feels tired from the weight of it all.

“You're the glue of _GLOW_ , Ruth. More than you realize. We would all be goddamn idiots not to make you a director.”

She has a knot at the back of her throat, tears prickling behind her eyes. She reaches out and grabs his hand that has been resting on the table, and he turns his palm up, all the better to hold her hand.

“I'm sorry this wasn't much of a _celebration_ ,” he says, awe and sarcasm mixed together in his voice, looking at their hands on the table.

She scoffs, “Please, I'd take you defending my honor and getting us kicked out of a casino over getting drunk with Bash any day.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Defending your honor, huh?”

“Yeah!”

“Wow. _Wow_ ,” he says, laughing, and she laughs too, the rush of everything that happened finally catching up with them. They laugh until tears are falling from their eyes, laughing too long and too loud, and she feels herself falling, a downward spiral that makes her stomach flip, caught in a free fall. Sam wipes his eyes and looks around at the diner.

“God, this place is fuckin’ depressing,” he laughs and Ruth snorts, still just trying to catch her breath but her lungs won't fill up all the way, something else kicking around in her chest and making a mess of things.

He grabs his glasses and fixes them onto his face, smiling at her in all of his broken, black-eyed glory. He rises from the booth and extends a hand towards her, helping her to her feet. He tosses a few bills onto the table as they head out.

Back in the darkness of his car, the city lights bleeding onto the side of his face that isn’t bruised, Ruth finds herself wishing the night wouldn’t end. She looks at him openly, stupidly, and she knows he can feel her stare but she doesn’t care.

_You look so much younger._

_Hmm. Shut up._

She realizes that Sam couldn’t have come into her life at a better time. There had been a Debbie-shaped hole in herself and he somehow managed to squeeze himself in, unbeknownst to both of them until it was too late. She knew what they had done to each other, she had known the whole time what they were doing to each other but she was helpless to stop it, a speeding train heading for broken tracks. _Let it go off the rails_ , she thinks, her smile blissful as she leans her head against the window and watches the lights go by in a blur, Elvis crooning on the radio.

They’re back at the _GLOW_ apartments too soon.

He parks and gets out to jog around the car and open her door.

“Why, thank you, good sir,” she says in some kind of accent. She’s not sure what that was supposed to be.

“Fuckin’ actresses,” he replies, and she laughs.

They walk side by side up the apartment stairs to her floor, staring out at the night, the city, each other. They can hear the girls in each apartment they pass. Jenny, Melrose, Carmen and Reggie are yelling, “Shots, shots, shots!” and they peak in the window to see Arthie and Yoyo knocking drinks back.

“Jesus,”  Sam swears, shaking his head, and Ruth chuckles before turning away again.

Cherry’s _Black Magic_ voice booms from inside another apartment, but Sam and Ruth quickly realize that it’s dirty talk and that they should probably keep moving.

The sound of Alex Trebek comes from Debbie and Tamme’s apartment, and Ruth smiles to herself when she hears Sheila yell out the answer before the contestants of _Jeopardy_ can,  causing Dawn and Stacey to groan in frustration. _Hamburger Helper night must’ve turned into game night_ , Ruth thinks with a smile.

They arrive at her apartment. Sam shuffles his feet, hands in his pockets.

The light over her door casts harsh shadows on his face, pulling his handsome features down more than usual. The cracks in his glasses shine in the yellow light as she looks up at him. She reaches up to lightly touch the bruises around his eye, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, wincing.

She gives him a look. “I barely touched it.”

“Ah, yeah, I know,” he smiles. “Not my first black eye.”

She’s reminded of him pulling off her boot in the hospital, more gentle than she thought he could be, and she’s still in that head-long spiral, her stomach is still flipping and he shuffles a little closer to her, they’re orbiting around each other, _I’ve never wanted anyone like this,_ the air is shifting, her breath hitches, _it’s all brand new, you’ll feel it in my kiss_ and he--

\--is stepping back, the spell is breaking, hands fisting at his sides, “Alright, well, go get some sleep, _director_ , we’re not gonna go easy on you--”

She kisses him.

She kisses him, and then he’s kissing her back, softly, unsure, afraid to fuck it all up, afraid to break _her_ , and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, and his hands weave themselves into her soft curls, and she’s smiling against his mouth because this is _Sam_ , and oh _\--_

He deepens the kiss, his fingers tightening in her hair, and Ruth can feel it going off the tracks, _I’m crazy for you_ , and she pulls away, breathless, leaning her forehead against his, still smiling and he’s smiling too. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and spills out of her mouth and he catches it, smile pressing against hers, barely even a kiss, just lips grinning against lips.

 

* * *

 

He’s smiling like a goddamn maniac and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself. He walks back to his car slowly, looking back over his shoulder every few feet, just to make sure she’s still there on the second floor, leaning against the railing and smiling in that dress, under those stars. And she _is_ still there every time he looks, watching him, the look on her face a mirror of his.

Sam walks backwards to his car once he hits the parking lot, his chest puffed out because his heart won’t stop beating against his skin, his lungs won’t stop taking in air. He’s forgotten completely about his black eye, his cracked glasses. He’s just looking at her as she looks at him, and this is _Ruth_ , and oh--

He waves at her as he gets into his car, and he can hear her laughter from here as she waves back. And they’re so crazy, there’s no way this is gonna work. But they’ll try, _he’ll try_ , because this is Ruth and she lights up his world in a way no one ever has before, and maybe he’s actually fucking sick and tired of a certain level of failure. A broken ankle and a black eye, a move to another state and a whole season of a women’s wrestling show later, and Sam has fallen in love with Ruth, Hitchcock and Alma, finally, at last.


End file.
